


30 Days

by argyros (argentumluna)



Series: Tenipuri Mob/Yakuza AU [1]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Atobe Keigo's Very Trying Month, Characters will be updated as story progresses, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentumluna/pseuds/argyros
Summary: Atobe wins a bet. Unfortunately the prize is not what (who) he expected. A series of vignettes.





	1. Day -7: Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially, sparked off by my yakuza/mob AU doodles on tumblr: http://argyros.tumblr.com/tagged/pot%3Amob-au
> 
> Atobe: I won our bet, so you’ll let me have your right hand man for a month, ahn?
> 
> Yukimura: Fine.
> 
> Atobe: *looking forward to riling up Sanada and being smug about it to Yukimura*
> 
> Yanagi: *shows up in England to politely make Atobe’s life difficult for a month*
> 
> Yukimura: *laughter can be heard all the way across the ocean as he drinks wine and watches Sanada kill things*
> 
> Beta'ed by @mercurysensei <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atobe and Yukimura go drinking.

The heads of the European branch of the international Hyoutei syndicate and the Kanagawa-based Rikkai-gumi have very interesting methods of maintaining goodwill and their peculiar brand of not-quite-friendship/rivalry. Chief among them is getting completely shitfaced on expensive vintages while placing bets.

It’s not the most elegant of solutions, but it works, most of the time.

This particular evening, it starts in the VIP room of a Rikkai-owned nightclub in Yokohama. They’re left mostly alone, as is customary -- neither of them have the patience for hostesses, and the security detail is just outside, anyway. Atobe usually brings Kabaji or Oshitari, and it’s the former with him today, since it’s the season finale of Oshitari’s favourite soap. 

Any formal syndicate business has long been dealt with over the course of the day, and now it’s just the small, personal, but arguably more gratifying stuff. They’ll drink, and play games, and settle all the minor quibbles that would either distract from grander negotiations or are too much of a pain to work out in the presence of a gaggle of advisors or third parties.

Atobe sits back, and as usual,orders a specific XO cognac to try and trip up the staff, which makes Yukimura roll his eyes and give the order to open the special stores. The man beside him bows and relays the order to the staff outside.

This one, Atobe hasn’t seen before. Usually, Yukimura almost always has Sanada with him, rarely Niou (or Yagyuu-- Atobe certainly can’t always tell, and Yukimura doesn’t seem to care as long as it’s one of them). 

Today, though, it’s an unfamiliar tall, lean man who’s probably a secretary or personal assistant, judging from the conservative cut of his suit compared to the typically flashier yakuza styles, and his distinctly non-combative air. Atobe is disappointed. Sanada is…easy on the eyes and entertaining to rile, and this one just looks…boring. At least he doesn’t seem nervous at being brought to a meeting like this, but then again, Yukimura doesn’t tolerate the skittish type. 

“New face,” comments Atobe, as Kabaji leans over to light his cigar. “Where’s that guard dog of yours, Yukimura?”

“Why, are you missing him?” replies Yukimura lightly, squinting as the overhead screen, normally used for karaoke, is changed to a live feed of an English greyhound race. “I’ll relay the touching message, but you’ll have to pick someone else to play with today. Sanada’s busy.” 

Atobe’s been not-friends with Yukimura long enough to understand that as code for ‘murder with extreme prejudice’. Meaning whatever had managed to annoy Yukimura lately (Ginka, probably, according to his sources) would be getting wiped off the map that evening in the typical Rikkai blitzkrieg fashion. Lovely. Also slightly arousing, but it’s hardly the time to dwell on thoughts of Sanada performing manly acts of violence. Atobe will do that later.

Eventually, after some prompting, Yukimura introduces the mystery man as Yanagi, who apparently does accounting, among other things.

It’s an annoying habit of Yukimura’s. He never bothers much with clarifying positions or rank during introductions, if he bothers with introductions beyond names at all. Atobe usually has to fill in the gaps later on using intel sources, if there’s a need. He wonders if Yukimura even minds who does what, as long as work gets done (and that is why Hyoutei is clearly superior, with its efficient division of labour).

“Your staff getting concerned that you’re running Rikkai into the red?” smirks Atobe, nodding at Yukimura and his accountant as they prepare to place their first bets of the evening.

“You’re confusing our spending habits for yours,” snorts Yukimura, accompanied by a bland half-smile from the accountant. He squints at the racing hounds on the TV screen. “That one,” he adds, addressing Yanagi, who dutifully notes it down. Kabaji does the same for Atobe’s pick. 

Soon Atobe is less one smuggled Monet that Yukimura has had his eye on for ages. Graciously, Atobe raises his glass to concede Yukimura’s victory. Kabaji and Yanagi applaud very politely.

Next comes a game of poker, where Kabaji wins Hyoutei the use of Rikkai’s jealously-guarded private hot springs. Hyoutei loses an inconsequential karaoke bar to a round of mahjong, then by the time they’re well into the evening the stakes have devolved into increasingly petty things that include Atobe’s personalized Maserati (which Yukimura declares he will have painted neon green if he wins), and Yukimura’s prizewinning waterlilies*. 

Atobe’s riding the high of a streak of wins (the Maserati will not be vandalised) and liquor burning in his veins when he remarks, only slurring a little, “If I win, I want your … _consigliere_.” This is the first time he’s ever indicated Sanada by his functional title, and he uses the foreign word more common in his European circles, partly because Yukimura had turned the customarily rigid hierarchy of the yakuza upside down and inside out the moment he’d grasped the reins of Rikkai (and so it’s a bit useless to define ranks in the first place) and also because Atobe may be a bit too tipsy to recall the exact Japanese term. “ For a month.” 

It takes a couple of seconds before Yukimura looks up from his whiskey glass, a little bleary-eyed but still mostly alert. He exchanges a brief glance with Yanagi, then turns his gaze back on Atobe and says, in a too-casual tone of voice that should really have tipped Atobe off, “I don’t know what you’d even do with him, but sure, if you can handle him.”

Atobe is always up for handling someone like Sanada.

He wins, and the only thing that could possibly be sweeter than the victory is the look on Sanada’s face when Yukimura informs him that he’s been gambled away in a round of jankenpon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Waterlily competitions are a thing


	2. Day 0: The Right Hand Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atobe collects on his bet, and regrets it.

It’s a week later and Atobe is standing in front of the three-panel floor-length mirror in his bedroom suite, back at Hyoutei’s European branch headquarters in England. Holding up a pale silver silk shirt, he considers the merits of the fabric, which will contrast nicely if he pairs it with a dark suit jacket. In the back of his mind, he is still relishing the memory of the slightly sour note in Yukimura’s voice as he had acknowledged Atobe’s victory that evening one week ago. Atobe values being able ruffle Yukimura’s feathers a little so much more than some paltry asset he could possibly obtain on behalf of Hyoutei. It’s the principle of the thing.

It doesn’t hurt that Atobe’s won a worthy prize this time. A frisson of anticipation courses through him as he gloats over the fact that Sanada Genichirou, whose reputation keeps all but the most foolish out of Yukimura’s way, is his for a whole month. Not for the first time, Atobe reflects that he could use someone like him (strong, straightforward, efficient, cultured) in Hyoutei. Unfortunately, the man is too stubbornly loyal to Yukimura to even contemplate switching sides. 

(Oshitari calls his interest in Sanada an obsession nearly on par with his Tezuka-crush, which is patently ridiculous, as no one other than could possibly be as worthy in Atobe’s estimation as Tezuka --not that he has a crush in the first place. It’s _appreciation_. Fine things should be appreciated.)

He decides the silver shirt is not optimally flattering for his complexion, and considers his alternatives. Something classic, sensible, but good quality and in the best of tastes, he thinks, looking through his massive walk-in wardrobe. Sanada is a practical man, after all. 

Atobe doesn’t react when Oshitari slips into his room as he is critically assessing the fit of a black number. “Were you raised in a barn, Yuushi?” he says lazily, meeting his second’s eyes in the mirror. “Did no one teach you to knock?”

“And miss the possibility of catching you _in flagrante delicto_ with a chambermaid or two, Keigo?” Oshitari teases, smiling, but Atobe can tell his heart isn’t into it, not like usual. Atobe pauses in the middle of straightening a cuff. 

“Out with it,” he says, brisk and businesslike. If there’s any trouble, he’d like to deal with it before Sanada arrives.

“He’s here,” sighs Oshitari, pushing up his glasses. “Just… you don’t have to dress to impress. You’ll see.”

“Oh? He’s early,” Atobe frowns at Oshitari’s tone, but pulls on a grey slim-waisted Italian-cut blazer over the shirt, and follows Oshitari to his office. Oshitari isn’t his usual chatty self and seems a bit preoccupied, like he’s mulling over something. Atobe quickly sees why.

The man standing in front of Atobe’s desk is _not_ Sanada Genichirou.

“Oh man, Atobe’s mad. He was really looking forward to this,” says someone, unwisely. Atobe ignores them, as well as Oshitari’s resigned sigh.

“What,” he says instead, fixing an icy blue gaze upon the uninvited guest, “is the meaning of this?”

The slim, tall man with a bowlcut (who Atobe finally identifies as the nondescript “accountant” Yukimura had brought to their last meeting) bows, just the right angle for the acknowledgement of a higher-ranked-person-not-his boss, and re-introduces himself as Yanagi Renji.

“It has been exactly one week, as the time in Japan is now 0115 hours,” says Yanagi. “As agreed upon, I have come to deliver myself to your tender mercies.”

“You’re the accountant,” notes Atobe frostily. This man is an unacceptable substitute, even if Yukimura can’t spare Sanada. “Why did Yukimura send me a clerk?”

“I take care of everything that does not require the kumicho’s personal oversight, which does include accounting, or more specifically, oversight of accounting,” Yanagi explains, completely unruffled. “The kumicho believes this satisfies Atobe-san’s request.”

Helpfully, he offers up a business card with both hands. Oshitari accepts it on Atobe’s behalf and arches an eyebrow as he in turn presents it to Atobe. The namecard indicates Yanagi as the vice-president of Hachisu Trading, the shell corporation Rikkai runs its various businesses under.

“Isn’t Sanada like, the underboss or … second-in-command, or something?” blurts out Shishido from a corner, voicing the doubts that are no doubt in everyone’s minds. He’s part of the gaggle of rubberneckers gathered in his office for the official introductions. They all look torn between amusement and genuine confusion at the apparent bait-and-switch, except for Ohtori, who predictably just looks pained and embarrassed on Shishido’s behalf. 

“I am certain that the kumicho did not mean for this confusion,” replies Yanagi, placidly, not appearing to be offended. “Sanada-san and his squads report directly to the kumicho, of course, but it is not a secret that his duties do not include much in the way of oversight otherwise.” The implied dig at Atobe’s information network hangs in the air. Someone, who Atobe will most assuredly demote later, unwisely snickers.

That sly bastard Yukimura, thinks Atobe, grudgingly acknowledging that he’s been played. Likely as not Yukimura knew what (who) Atobe had been angling for and was only too happy to go along with the misunderstanding. He _should_ have requested Sanada by name, but had that seemed so plebian at the time, like ordering off a menu. 

Sanada’s solid, constant presence at Yukimura’s side probably ensures that everyone not in the know just assumes that the man exuding that much power and presence must surely be Yukimura’s second-in-command. With someone like that drawing attention, no one would notice someone so deliberately average like Yanagi, who certainly doesn’t look particularly important. 

“Gekokujou,” mutters Hiyoshi, somewhat appropriately, though it’s half-muffled by Taki dragging him away. Yanagi merely smiles, and lowers his gaze in mock deference when Atobe glares. 

Darkly, Atobe contemplates a glass of scotch.

“You’ll have to show me that this isn’t another example of Yukimura’s poor personnel management,” he snaps, and turns on his heel to leave. To his irritation, Yanagi murmurs a polite, bland acquiescence rather than springing to the defense of his employer, and has the gall to fall perfectly into step behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka is totally Interpol (and Seigaku is probably his team). It's a romance that was never meant to be. Sorry Atobe.


	3. Day 7: Yanagi's Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yanagi settles into life at the Hyoutei base. Atobe is slightly paranoid.
> 
> (beta'd by the lovely mercurysensei!)

Several days later, Atobe has to grudgingly admit that Yukimura knows what he’s doing. Yanagi is the consummate guest, unerringly polite and gracious, and has taken to living in the estate like a duck to water. He’s irritatingly difficult to read compared to the relatively straightforward honesty of Sanada, but Atobe, used to dealing with poker faces, can pick up some detached amusement at the bafflement of the people around him.

There’s still the issue of what, exactly, someone like him is supposed to _do_ for the one month of his visit. Atobe had many activities planned for Sanada, but they were all carefully tailored to his tastes and are now moot with Yanagi’s arrival.

Yanagi, for his part, seems content to wait for Atobe to make up his mind. He follows Atobe around at a polite distance, observing with an almost clinical air, but going willingly when foisted off on some other member or pointedly directed elsewhere. The latter options often turn out more ill-advised than keeping him under Atobe’s nose, as Yanagi has an uncanny talent for worming himself here and there into the daily activities of his staff, just enough to be annoying without actually interfering with their work.

Atobe is just mostly thankful he’d had the presence of mind to have him closely watched, just in case. Yanagi seems either unaware or (more likely) uncaring of the surveillance. Somewhat disturbingly, he appears to have quickly struck up a rapport with Hiyoshi, and often disappears with him when the latter has a free afternoon. Perhaps it’s a bowl cut support group. …Or the beginnings of a coup.

Oshitari slinks in sometime after lunch, rakishly disheveled and sporting a purpling bruise on his collarbone. Atobe raises an eyebrow. “Well?” he says, waiting, and sips his tea.

“The things I do for you, Keigo,” Oshitari sighs dramatically, and carefully lowers himself into the armchair across from him. “He wasn’t even an interesting lay. Nice guy, though.”

Atobe makes a dismissive gesture. “You volunteered, as you always do. Didn’t you say you liked the mysterious types?”

In reply, Oshitari reaches over Atobe’s antique mahogany desk to steal Atobe’s teacup for a sip, which earns him an eye roll. “Yuushi,” says Atobe. “Are you here to report or steal my tea?”

“Have a care, boss, I’ve been working all morning,” Oshitari smiles, but sets the tea back down. “Our friend from Rikkai is quite skilled at evading questions, so I have less for you than I hoped.”

“Not everyone is susceptible to your brand of interrogation, Yuushi,” Atobe allows. For example, Sanada would probably have broken Oshitari’s nose the moment he caught on that he was being prepositioned. Atobe’s more intrigued that Yanagi accepted Oshitari’s overtures at all, considering he looks like the careful sort and doesn’t seem all that interested in Oshitari’s charms. Perhaps it’s an attempt at turning the tables on Oshitari to do some information gathering of his own? Atobe thinks there are very slim chances of that succeeding. Oshitari is a seasoned pro at this game, and Yanagi by comparison is about as charismatic as a mouldy onion.

Oshitari recounts what he has found, which is not much they haven’t figured out by now – Yanagi is _very_ high up in the Rikkai-gumi’s ranks, wears a ridiculously shiny tie pin, prefers Y-fronts to boxers, and doesn’t like steak-and-kidney pie.

“Did you at least find out what he and Wakashi are up to?” asks Atobe, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That grumpy birdie actually made a friend,” says Oshitari. “Mostly, they’re playing shogi. Choutarou confirmed it as well, when I asked him. It’s very cute and innocent, don’t worry.”

“Wakashi and the words ‘cute and innocent’ are mutually exclusive,” Atobe reminds him. Oshitari just laughs, shaking his head in disagreement.

“He’s a classic tsundere, that one,” Oshitari says fondly. He steals another mouthful of Atobe’s tea before getting to his feet. “Well, that concludes my report. I’m going to take a nap. Why don’t you go talk to him yourself? I know he’s not Sanada, but he’s still a representative from one of your most important allies.”

“I will think about it,” Atobe concedes, as Oshitari sketches a lazy bow and leaves the room.

 

Later, Atobe finds Yanagi in the Italian-style gardens nearest the guest wing. He’s standing on the stone steps that descend towards a lily pond, half-shrouded in the shadows cast by the weeping willows lining the banks. It would be picturesque, if not for that awful mud-brown suit and mustard yellow tie ( _why_?) and the fact that Yanagi is disturbing the tranquil atmosphere with a phone call.

At least he’s mostly quiet about it. Atobe only manages to catch snippets as he walks closer.

“… be back before you know it, Shii-chan,” is one such exchange he overhears. Yanagi’s voice is warm, and Atobe wonders if he’s talking to a family member or lover. Abruptly, Yanagi looks up, spotting Atobe, and meets his gaze with his trademark bland smile. “It’s late where you are, go to sleep,” he concludes to his conversation partner, all trace of affection gone, and hangs up before turning fully to Atobe.

“Good afternoon, Atobe-san,” he greets congenially. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

Atobe considers the weak English sun suffocating behind thick clouds and the almost-but-not-quite feeling of impending rain. Admittedly, by local standards, this is above average. “…Yes, quite,” he agrees dryly. He nods towards the phone in Yanagi’s hand. “Homesick?”

“Being scolded,” Yanagi corrects. “I’m being told to take my vacation more seriously.” Atobe raises an eyebrow.

“A vacation, ahn? I should put you to work.” He owns Yanagi, temporarily, after all. He does need a new pool boy… 

“If that is what you would like,” agrees Yanagi, readily enough. Apparently, he is not at all averse to taking orders from other people. “Any time away from Rikkai is a vacation.”

“Oh? Are you calling Yukimura a slave-driver, then?” asks Atobe, amused despite himself.

“The kumicho has certainly been called worse, not least by yourself, Atobe-san,” Yanagi replies. He walks forward, out of the shade and up the stone steps to stand on even ground with him. For the first time, Atobe notices how tall Yanagi is, possibly even taller than the hulking beast that is Sanada.

“I’ve never called him a name he doesn’t deserve,” Atobe declares grandly, pretending that he isn’t having to look up to maintain eye contact.

“Of course,” Yanagi demurs. His expression is as flat as ever, but there’s something to his smile that Atobe feels is cheerfully promising disembowelment at a later date.

Just for that, Atobe thinks, he is definitely making Yanagi his new pool boy.


	4. Day 10: The Pool Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atobe makes Yanagi his new pool boy. The universe conspires against him.

“I think you are being ridiculous,” Oshitari says. Atobe ignores him, because this is clearly a case of the pot calling the kettle black.

They’re lounging on the pool deck sipping beverages, watching Yanagi, who is dressed in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts, as he fishes out leaves and miscellaneous debris from the pool with a long-handled net. It would be perfect, except it’s not quite pool season yet, and the water is still too cold to be comfortable. It’s the reason why neither Oshitari nor Atobe have ventured into the water and why Atobe is wearing a track jacket over his swimwear.

An unpleasantly clammy breeze sends Atobe unconsciously curling into his jacket. Oshitari is already shamelessly using his beach towel as a blanket. Yanagi looks a little chilled and the tip of his nose is turning red, but to his credit there’s not a peep of complaint from him as he soldiers on with his task. Atobe sips his mimosa and has to commend the man on his discipline.

“This is not my idea of a fun Sunday afternoon,” complains Oshitari, shivering. “I could be re-watching Pride and Prejudice in bed.”

“You’ve already seen that enough times for several lifetimes.” It’s a discussion they’ve had endless times, but as surely as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, Oshitari Yuushi will never tire of Mr. Darcy. Nevertheless, Oshitari is not allowed to leave, because Atobe is not suffering alone.

“If you really wanted to do this,” Oshitari continues, still sulky. “You should have moved us to the Sicilian villa, or the beachfront property in Greece. Or have him play butler or something while we sit in the hot tub. Somewhere warm, you know? Not _here_.”

“I’m tired of Sicily and the estate in Greece is being repaired. And no, a butler would be completely unacceptable for this purpose,” says Atobe, envisioning an entirely different kind of servant. “Not quite—“

“Not quite demeaning enough, is what you were going to say,” suggests Yanagi, who has suddenly appeared behind them, bearing a tray of fresh, hot tea (no doubt from Kabaji, who had been hovering around concernedly earlier). “Perhaps I should don a frilly dress and apron instead?”

Oshitari beams at Yanagi, evidently sensing a kindred spirit. Or he’s just happy that Yanagi brought hot drinks. “You’re a treasure, Yanagi-san,” he says, greedily taking a steaming cup into his hands. “I’m sure you’d make a very cute maid,” he adds, and then in a blink of the eye the two of them are engaging in a disturbingly scholarly discussion on the aesthetics of _zettai ryouiki_ ratios pertaining to maid uniforms. Clearly, these are two people who shouldn’t be left together in the same vicinity.

Atobe attempts to ignore Oshitari’s enthusiasm and Yanagi’s apparent creepy mind-reading abilities and willingness to cross-dress. He fails, so he asks, “Have you no pride as a man at all?”

“I simply am very secure in my masculinity,” replies Yanagi lightly, earning a delighted cackle from Oshitari. Atobe’s not sure how he feels about this outsider winning his people over.

“Less talking, more working,” he says instead, setting down his finished drink (and pointedly not taking any of the tea). “Be honoured that I don’t have you scrubbing the toilets.”

Yanagi, who’s leaned in close to take Atobe’s empty glass, looks at him, narrow eyes glittering. There’s a mischievous curl to the edge of his mouth that’s oddly arresting. “I am eternally grateful, _mas-ter_ ,” Yanagi replies, drawing out the syllables of the last word. There is absolutely no reason for this absurd reaction, but Atobe’s breath catches in his throat. It’s fortunate that Yanagi is already turning away, and appears not to have noticed. Oshitari , however, _has_.

“Oh, Keigo,” Oshitari says, pityingly. Atobe has to remind himself that Oshitari is too useful to be strangled to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will write long chapters. ...Today is not that day.
> 
> _Zettai ryouiki_ (absolute territory) is the otaku term for the area of bare skin between the hem of a skirt and over-the-knee socks.


End file.
